


intermission

by skylights



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex, Smut, that's about it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 17:02:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13012215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skylights/pseuds/skylights
Summary: Ren is moving above him with a violence that’s uniquely his, all coiled fury and straining muscles pinning Hux down even though Hux doesn’tneedany pinning down. What Hux needs (wants, badly) is for Ren to just get it out of his system. Their systems. Who the fuck even knows at this stage, when the push and pull between them has become more like a synchronised drowning event instead, Ren pulling him further and further away from the shoreline while Hux tries to keep Ren’s head underwater.





	intermission

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers for The Last Jedi.

In a different life, this could have been framed as some sad, sick form of penance. An atonement of sorts, for battles hard-won and wars easily lost. A mortification of the flesh, or a kind of self-flagellation purging out every last unforeseen defeat.

Fortunately for Hux, however, that life is long gone – dead and buried and spat upon for good measure. In retrospect, it’s really not unlike how Starkiller Base had met its own demise in the end, and if that isn’t a vague and tragic metaphor for what his life has become at this point, Hux doesn’t know what is. Here, the parallels are obvious when they’re laid out:

A sequence of mistakes.

An abundance of explosions.

Everything that has ever mattered to him going up in a fiery ball of shame, collapsing inwards with an almighty sound that has surely been heard across the entire quadrant.

But no. No, he’s past that. He has to be, if he wants to keep living, and if Hux is good at anything, it’s compartmentalising and moving the fuck on.

Besides, Hux has other things on his mind to keep him busy these days. Better things even, though recent events has led him to second-guess his own judgment more often than usual.

Right now for instance:

Ren is moving above him with a violence that’s uniquely his, all coiled fury and straining muscles pinning Hux down even though Hux doesn’t _need_ any pinning down. What Hux needs (wants, badly) is for Ren to just get it out of his system. Their systems. Who the fuck even knows at this stage, when the push and pull between them has become more like a synchronised drowning event instead, Ren pulling him further and further away from the shoreline while Hux tries to keep Ren’s head underwater.

They’re in sync, at least. They’re trying, and that’s what matters, right?

(Hux _really_ doesn’t trust his own judgement these days.)

He’s goaded Ren into hurting him more than usual, today. The outline of his open palm is already fading from the side of Ren’s cheek, but that had been more for Hux’s own amusement than anything. Ren’s tolerance for physical pain is shockingly high. Hux knows this. Has seen it and heard it, even smelled it in the metallic tang left behind in the air on one memorable occasion.

No, baiting Ren requires something else altogether.

It had already been hard to breathe with Ren’s weight pressing him down into the mattress, but with Ren’s hand gripped around his throat like a vice, Hux suspects he’s a mere sentence or two away from making it less of a merely uncomfortable inconvenience and more of a legitimately dangerous (welcome, intended) situation.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks giddily to himself, and rears up the best he can.

“Can’t even do this right, can you?” It’s hissed, low and cruel into Ren’s ear. “Can’t even do it like a man. If I wanted a proper fucking I’d have used two of my own fingers.”

The noise that Ren makes at this is almost a snarl, animal-like. _Good_ , Hux has time to think to himself before two things happen in quick succession:

It’s the loss of Ren’s cock in him that is the first and most immediate, the pulling out and subsequent, acute sense of emptiness inside of Hux.

Then: that sudden fullness (thickness, heat, weight) again, Ren having forced himself back in hard enough to drag a whimper out of Hux.

 _Good_.

He’s been manhandled onto his hands and knees, feet kicked wide apart so that Ren can drive himself in at a better angle. Deeper, faster, aching something awful when the head of Ren’s cock catches against Hux’s rim on every other outward thrust.

“And you, _General_?” Ren’s breath is hot and damp, the words murmured messily into the juncture where Hux’s right shoulder slopes up into his neck. “What do you have to say about the way you’re taking it like a five-credit whore?”

He’s got Hux by the nape of the neck now and is pushing him down, down, down into the coarse sheets, hard enough that Hux has to scramble to turn his head sideways just to gasp for precious half-gulps of air. His chest hurts and it’s good, it’s so fucking _good_.

A conscious decision now, words or oxygen. One extra breath struggling to alleviate the pressure crushing his thorax or more of Ren’s anger crashing into him like a wave.

The choice is blindingly obvious.

“Know a lot about those, don’t you?”

Ren sinks his teeth into Hux’s shoulder for that and he must have broken skin, the stinging pain of that only offset with how Ren’s hips are snapping painfully against him, enough force in each thrust that Hux is sure he must be split open by now, laid bare for Ren’s taking.

They’ve done this enough that it’s easy to know when Ren is close to coming. He thrusts shallower, faster, all sense of rhythm given up in that momentary pursuit until he’s sheathed as deep as Hux will take him, head bowed and entire body tensed as he’s emptying himself.

This time is no different. Ren still has one hand gripped around the back of Hux’s neck and the other, splayed across the flat of his back, somewhere between his shoulder-blades. Holding him down like an unruly dog, maybe, tamed with his arse raised high in the air.

“Take it,” Ren snarls. “ _Take it_ , I know you need this.”

It’s terrifying because it’s true. Hux can feel his breath shuddering weakly out of his chest, thighs trembling from holding himself up like this for so long, but there’s no other way.

There’s no other way.

In another life, this might have been something close to sacred: Ben Solo, hair falling into his eyes, gentle and reverent. But in this one, Ren is coming with a bit-back groan, nails dinging down into Hux’s back when he sheathes himself as far as Hux can take him and body gone taut when he empties himself, deep.

The weight on his back lifts soon after, Ren drawing himself out carelessly while Hux raises himself a little on one elbow.

 _You should leave_ , he always wants to tell Ren at this stage, but he never does. Ren, to his credit, doesn’t leave either, and Hux knows he’s not the only one who sees a certain appeal to this.

This being Hux pressing his forehead against the mattress with his eyes clothes and warm spend still dripping down the back of his thighs.

This being his hand wrapped around his neglected cock and stroking himself hard, eyes closed and breathing shallow.

This being the sordid idea of Ren watching him from the back, sloppy and aching and still stretched wide open, his hand moving quick between his own legs as he feels his own orgasm rising and rising until –

 _There_.

For that one brief moment, Hux feels the fight go out of him and there’s nothing but white-hot pleasure unspooling in the base of his gut as he comes, short spurts of it caught in the cup of his own palm.

“I could have–” Ren had tried saying at one point, far too long ago now, but he’s never come close to finishing that sentence. Sometimes the look in Hux’s eyes had been enough to make him remember who and where they were. Others, Ren had left on his own accord, leaving Hux to slump back down into the sheets until each breath didn’t come ragged anymore.

Today, he lifts his head and Ren is still there, though his back is turned as he pulls the last of his robes on. Just enough time to rearrange his features into a calculated sneer, then, and quickly check if Ren had actually drawn blood on his shoulder, the bastard.

“I didn’t.”

Of course.

Hux rises, and it must be a sign of the times indeed when all he feels at the stark contrast between Ren’s black-robed bulk and his own nakedness is a slight chill.

“Get out of my quarters, Ren.”

And so he does, Hux already halfway to the refresher by the time the door slides shut behind Ren.

 

Fuck, he’s so tired.

**Author's Note:**

> Can't believe I'm back on this Shit and my first fic in almost a year is for this dumpster fire of a pairing (which I love dearly, who the fuck am I kidding). Thanks TLJ for breaking my year-long writers block I guess??


End file.
